From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 104

**Storm Behind Sleeps by George Orwell 104**

**Chapter 1**

Standing at the precipice of despair, I felt the crushing weight of reality settle heavily upon my shoulders. The impending loss of my mother loomed like a dark cloud, her final wish ringing in my ears: she wanted to see me married. It seemed such a simple desire, yet it felt like an insurmountable mountain, a steep climb I had no idea how to begin.

For twenty-seven agonizing days, I had poured my heart out to Jake Morrison, my boyfriend of six long years, beseeching him to take that step towards marriage with me. Each day, I approached him with a flicker of hope, my heart racing at the thought of finally making my mother proud, of granting her a moment of joy before she departed this world. Yet, Jake appeared ensnared in his own world, oblivious to the urgency of my pleas.

I found myself seated in the sterile, fluorescent-lit County Clerk Office, anticipation swirling in my chest as the minutes ticked away towards closing time. My palms were clammy, slick with anxiety, and the weight of expectation pressed down on me like a heavy shroud. But when the clock struck five, Jake was conspicuously absent.

As if fate were mocking my desperation, that very day, Jake’s childhood sweetheart, Riley Sterling, jubilantly posted their marriage certificate on social media. The caption read: *Time flies—three more days and we’ll be married a whole month.*

A cold wave of realization crashed over me, leaving me gasping for breath. The very first day I had begun my desperate pleas to Jake, he had already tied the knot with his childhood princess. My heart plummeted.

Moments later, my phone buzzed, a text from Jake lighting up the screen. It was a hollow apology, a slap in the face: *Chloe, Riley’s family was forcing her into marriage. I couldn’t watch her marry some random guy and ruin her life.*

His words stung, but I steeled myself as I read on: *Just three more days and we’ll be divorced. I’ll marry you right after.*

Three days later, Jake showed up at the County Clerk Office, dressed in a wedding suit that seemed to mock the chaos in my heart. Yet, all he found awaiting him was a single, resolute message from me: *Jake, goodbye FOREVER.*

In the cold, sterile morgue, I stood over my mother’s still form, tears streaming down my cheeks like a relentless waterfall. The sight of her, once so vibrant and full of life, now lifeless, was a crushing blow that shattered my world.

Mom had dedicated her life to raising me, pouring her heart and soul into my upbringing without ever asking for anything in return. And now, as I faced the harsh reality of her passing, I couldn’t even fulfill her last wish.

When the doctors had delivered the heart-wrenching news about Mom’s condition, I had pleaded with Jake to marry me—not for the sake of a wedding, but so that Mom could leave this world knowing I wouldn’t be alone. I wanted her to feel some semblance of peace in her final moments, knowing I would have someone to lean on.

Day after day, I begged him, my desperation mounting with each passing hour.

On the first day, he had brushed me off with a casual excuse: “Babe, Riley’s car broke down. Gotta go pick her up.”

The second day brought another excuse: “Sorry, helping Riley move today. Rain check?”

As the days turned into weeks, his excuses piled up like a mountain of unfulfilled promises. On day twenty-six, he had texted, *Riley’s stomach thing is acting up again. She really needs me right now.*

If it hadn’t been for that fateful Instagram post revealing his marriage to Riley, I might still have been living in blissful ignorance, crafting elaborate justifications for his behavior. But the bitter truth was hard to swallow; “he’s already married” had never even crossed my mind.

Missed our anniversary? “I’ll make it up to you next time, I swear.”

Bailed on meeting Mom? “Next time for sure.”

Wouldn’t commit to marriage? “Tomorrow I’ll definitely be free.”

He had learned that I was a forgiving person, so he continued to wound me, seemingly indifferent to the pain he caused.

But this time, there would be no “next time.”

Because my mother would never get another chance.

And I was done forgiving him.

In the wake of my mother’s passing, I stood at a crossroads, wrestling with the profound weight of loss and betrayal. The finality of her absence was compounded by the stark realization that Jake, the man I had invested so much hope in, had chosen another path—one that led him away from me when I needed him most. The echoes of empty promises and hollow apologies reverberated in my mind, a painful reminder of a love that had twisted into a source of anguish. As I resolved to sever ties with Jake, a flicker of strength ignited within me. No longer would I allow the ghosts of unfulfilled expectations to haunt me; I was reclaiming my narrative, one that my mother would have wanted me to embrace.

With every tear shed over my mother’s lifeless form, I began to understand the importance of honoring my own needs and desires. The grief that had threatened to engulf me now served as a catalyst for transformation. I realized that my mother’s last wish for me was not merely to be married, but to find love that was genuine and reciprocated. As I prepared to lay her to rest, I felt a profound shift within myself—an acceptance of my past, a recognition of my worth, and a determination to seek a future filled with authentic connections. In that moment of clarity, I understood that the storm behind me had quieted, making way for a new dawn, one where I could finally begin to heal and embrace the life that lay ahead.